


Nightcross

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Series: X Years Later [23]
Category: Newcastle (2008)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:56:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5258150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Unfortunately, not too many people realise that it can be so easy to both give love and take it away, sometimes, so efficiently, that there would be no trace left of it having been there at all. People meet, become lovers, split up. Love is given, love is taken, love is gone. And if you are lucky, you’ll get a reminder of that feeling in the form of a corny memento or a title designating you as so-and-so’s ex."</p><p>Nine to nine-and-a-half years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightcross

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters or the plot of the original movie belong to me. I am not making money off my work, which is written for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the love. It really means a world to me and inspires me to keep writing! :)
> 
> I highly recommend everyone to watch this movie.

*******  
  
  
  


 

*…get finished on Monday.*

“…what do you think?”

*…I know, but if it’s not done by Monday night, they will not have time for a trial run before the broadcast on Tuesday…*

“Fergus?”

*…well, I don’t know! You will have to search for it using keywords on the D-Drive, and if you can’t find it…*

“Fergs!”

Fergus lifted his head from typing on his smartphone:

“Hm?”

Andy was giving him a look so intense that his grey eyes, usually so mischievous and joyful, looked cold and unforgiving, like steel. His mother was sat just to the left of him, both more or less opposite Fergus at the round table, and she kept looking between the two of them with a worried expression. When she caught Fergus’ eyes, she turned to her son again and opened her mouth to say something, but Andy preceded her:

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Sorry?”

Fergus blinked at him in a genuine apology, but Andy’s expression did not change:

“My mother just asked you if we would like to stay a bit longer for a cup of tea.”

“Uh…” 

Fergus looked from him to Alina:

“I, uh…” – He once again focused on his partner, - “You know, we really can’t… I have to go into work tomorrow morning…”

“It’s a Saturday.”

“Yeah, I know, but the project is nowhere near done and….” – He looked back to Alina, - “I…uh… I’m sorry, I’ll be happy to do this some other time…”

She began to nod lightly with a demure smile but just then Andy made a rough rolling motion with his head. She turned to him immediately and grasped onto his arm:

“A… Andrzej!”

But he was already on his feet. He addressed her in Polish and side-stepped. She still held onto his arm however, and, throwing a brisk look at Fergus, responded in English:

“No, no. I’ll go tomorrow myself, don’t bother.”

“No, I’ll go now” – He said resolutely and retracted his arm to force her to let go, - “I’ll go now, it’s still open, so I’ll just get it done.”

She looked at him with her mouth still slightly open and her brows still slightly creased but he didn’t even blink, walking out of the kitchen. He made sure to avoid Fergus’ eyes.

When the front door thudded closed behind her son, Alina finally turned back to Fergus. And the unsure, embarrassed half-smile on her face was what finally prompted him to lower his eyes. 

 

In truth, it was a toss-up which one of the two was more embarrassed. The thing is, Alina was not used to witnessing them arguing like that largely because it rarely happened, and under normal circumstances, Fergus would have ensured that *today* did not transpire in front of her either, but he and Andy have been planning to come over for dinner for so long and have had to cancel already so many times, that the fact that the day started out so poorly was hardly sufficient to talk Andy out of the visit one more time. 

 

In the morning Fergus discovered that Andy didn’t get done half of what he was supposed to accomplish during the week. By the time he realised it, Andy was already off to his shift at the beach and Fergus, grinding his teeth, set about taking care of those errands. Return some parts that didn’t fit onto the sink pipe. Take the suit jackets to the dry cleaner. Buy a new charger for his laptop. Go through the mail. When Andy finally got back, Fergus was properly mad:

“Really? You didn’t even have time to sweep the sand off the floor?”

Andy motioned with his hands, eyes full of demure surprise:

“Fergs, I told you I couldn’t. You know I have work, and now since Jesse’s meetings with the social worker have been rescheduled for the afternoons, I also have to cover half of his shift at the bistro or else they’ll let him go…”

“Yeah, but that’s only twice a week! And in any case, you don’t start that early in the morning!” – He felt his blood start to boil, - “What do you do with the rest of your time?”

“N-nothing” – Andy even stepped back, - “Yesterday I had to go to your grandfather’s house and help him replace the locks on the doors…”

“Why?!” – Fergus exhaled an angry sigh, - “I called and told him that just because he lost his key doesn’t mean that somebody found it! This is not a place where people break into homes!”

Andy motioned with his hands and Fergus sighed out again and started towards the desk to grab his laptop.

Andy asked cautiously:

“You… remember we have a dinner tonight… with my mother?”

Fergus looked at him coldly:

“Well, now I don’t have the time! I still have a bunch of work to get done over the weekend!”

Andy blinked at him:

“But she’s cooking…”

“Well, call her and tell her that we’ll have to do it another night, I have too much work!”

Andy looked at him with pain in his eyes, but said nothing.

In the end, they still went, both because Fergus didn’t feel right disrespecting Alina and because he wasn’t up to making dinner himself - and Andy, still hurt by the conversation before, retired outside to work on fixing the stairs. 

 

At Alina’s, Fergus continued to be bombarded with Whatsapp chats from his coworker. He tried to be discreet about it at first but eventually he completely fell out of the conversation at the dinner table. And that, essentially, was what brought them to this very moment.

 

Just as he lifted his head again to look up at Alina, she got up off the taburette, picking up dirty dishes. He asked:

“Would you like some help?”

“Oh, no” – She responded quietly, without looking, - “Andrzej won’t be one moment. He’s just gone to the corner store to pick up some yeast and some spices for me… I was planning on baking cardamom bread in the morning…”

Fergus opened his mouth to respond but realised he had absolutely nothing to say. This probably wasn’t the time to try to explain his own or Andy’s behaviour. Or the time to apologise – apologise, but for what? He made a motion to grab for his phone but abandoned the effort mid-way with an uncomfortable discovery that this was what caused the scene in the first place. He then fidgeted on the taburette for a few moments and would have probably begun to feel extremely awkward if Alina then, again, without turning, didn’t offer:

“Why don’t you get some fresh air? It’s a lovely night outside!” – She motioned to the window with her chin, her hands occupied by dishes, - “Enjoy it for a moment while you can, I’ll send Andrzej to you when he returns.”

She then turned to him with a sad smile and he immediately felt so poorly that he barely responded with a nod before he bolted out of the kitchen. 

Outside, the night was indeed fresh and peaceful. Alina’s house was truly right on the beach and the lights of the city did not reach it to interfere with starlight. He walked around a bit until he reached the spot right outside the kitchen windows from where he still heard Alina clearing off the table.

Underneath those windows stood a big old swing. According to Alina, Andy’s father got it for her instead of a rocking chair when she was pregnant with Andy because she insisted on spending most of her free time outside. According to Andy, this is where she read old Polish fairy tales to him before sending him off to sleep when he was a child. He claimed that when it was warm enough, he even slept on the swing. When he was a teen, he did his homework here, stubbornly refusing to use a desk. He probably also used it to just sit and think, and stare at the ocean, Fergus thought, because those were the kinds of things Andy really liked to do. They shared one of their first kisses here, not the first one, but one of the first ones, with the swing creaking a little and Fergus breaking the kiss because for some reason he found it incredibly funny, and then retrying again and laughing again...

 

Fergus swiped the worn-out seat with his hand, paused a little, then slowly lowered himself onto the swing. The seat moved backwards to initiate a slow rocking motion.

 

It’s funny, he thought, even here, they had their “sides.” His was the right one, Andy’s – the left one, because it was closer to the side door to the house and it was always Andy who’d be getting up to go inside to get them some drinks, some crisps, some magazines, some books, what have you… In one sense, it was appropriate, of course – this was his house, but in the other…

But in the other sense, since then it’s continued in that fashion even when they moved out to uni, and later, moved back to Newcastle and got a place of their own. It kind of came natural, perhaps, because it was Fergus who got a more serious, more demanding job, but in truth, he couldn’t even remember the last time he went grocery shopping. Perhaps, that’s really why he was so annoyed with having to run those errands that morning. Andy literally did just about everything for him. He not only routinely did almost all of house chores, but also took care of Fergus’ family. One of the past Christmasses, for example, Fergus had no time to go present-shopping, so Andy not only accomplished that, but sent out the cards to everyone in his family, all the aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents… He dropped off a One Direction blanket and backpack at Victor’s daughter’s house, along with a music card that sang “What Makes You Beautiful.” Fergus didn’t actually sign or even see the card, but Andy took a picture of it and showed it to him later. Fergus didn’t even know that his niece liked One Direction, but there it was, the Happy Holidays card, signed “~ Fergus and Andy,” in Andy’s handwriting, with his own name written first…

He reasoned, that even if he didn’t have the time to show it routinely, Andy still knew that he loved him. He, for example, never doubted Andy’s love. Now, with Andy it was easier to see because not only was his personality more conducive towards showing love, but his lifestyle also allowed him the time to do so. But of course, Andy had to understand that with the way his past had damaged him, Fergus had his struggles. And then, Fergus was also sure in his mind that he loved Andy. From what he could imagine love to be, having nothing to compare it to, he had to surmise he loved Andy. Because if what he felt was not love, he wouldn’t know what was. And so, of all things he could give him, the first and the most important was love. 

Or was it?

Unfortunately, not too many people realise that it can be so easy to both give love and take it away, sometimes, so efficiently, that there would be no trace left of it having been there at all. People meet, become lovers, split up. Love is given, love is taken, love is gone. And if you are lucky, you’ll get a reminder of that feeling in the form of a corny memento or a title designating you as so-and-so’s ex. 

So then, when you think about someone so important, love couldn’t be the only “thing” you could give them. 

Fergus suddenly remembered being at Victor’s ex-girlfriend’s house, way back when, when Victor was still alive and when their daughter was still a small child and way before One Direction was even a thing. He remembered his niece’s mother hiss at his brother, just barely out of their daughter’s earshot ‘I can’t believe I wasted two years on you!’ Whether she ever loved Victor the way Fergus loved Andy, Fergus didn’t know, but whatever she once felt, she didn’t feel anymore. But she didn’t care about it, either. So it couldn’t have been as important as the thing she did care about.

Time.

That’s exactly what she considered important. She didn’t say ‘I can’t believe I was in love with you, loser’, she didn’t say ‘I can’t believe I had your child’, she said, ‘I can’t believe I wasted two years.’ If she ever felt love, if she ever gave him it, it was gone. She moved on. Victor moved on. But she regretted giving that, which she could never take back. 

Time.

Unlike money, unlike material things, unlike feelings, unlike concepts like friendship and love, time is a unique entity that is truly, absolutely, limited and irreplaceable. 

And if you believe that, you must agree that time makes the most precious gift.

Time is given unconditionally and with no possibility for an exchange because any exchange subsumes even more sacrifice. Thus, it can be neither returned nor traded.

The light went off in the kitchen and jolted Fergus a little out of his thoughts. Alina must have left the kitchen, setting the dishwasher to run because he instantly became lulled by its monotone gurgling. He was alone with the ocean now, and with his mobile phone still on the kitchen table, he had no concept of time.

Didn’t he?

Well, the only thing he was absolutely sure of, is that for however long Andy was gone by now, ten minutes, or twenty, or an hour, he missed him desperately and he felt sorely sad. This was so unlike him to be feeling this, he realised, because just how much time Andy always gave him. He not only nearly always made sure to be home by the time Fergus arrived on weekdays, he also ran all their errands whilst Fergus was at work so the two of them would not have to worry about that in their off-time. So he didn’t just give him time directly, he gave it to him in other ways - in fact he did very little just for himself. Now, Fergus… well, of course, Fergus had a much more interesting career, he was making a lot more money than Andy, he got to see a lot of the world through his job…. But none of those things was really so necessary that he could not imagine living without them and perhaps, he would not even miss them that much if they were gone. Andy, on the other hand…

Andy, on the other hand, appeared from the left side of the house. He startled Fergus even though he made absolutely no noise. Fergus’ breath caught in his throat and he had to clear it, suddenly realising that his mouth was flooded with something cold and salty. He looked away and wiped his hand over his face. 

Andy stood by the swing for a few seconds, apparently, just taking in the situation and Fergus really did understand that he had to be the first one to begin to speak. But he also knew that he couldn’t because his nose was congested and he already felt vulnerable and weak. He hated showing weakness, even to Andy, even though he knew that Andy’d seen it all before. But with some things, he just couldn’t. Not with how they were now, how things functioned, with him being the leader and always being in control… he just couldn’t. It didn’t mean that he didn’t feel it, but with some things, it was just…

But the thing is, Andy understood. Andy read him like an open book, Andy looked into his black bottomless eyes and saw a colourful world in them, a world not perfect, but a world, of which he, Andy, was the one unopposed ruler. Andy knew that. He wasn’t privy to the realisations that Fergus has just finished making whilst sitting on his childhood swing, but that much he knew. So Andy carefully approached him and lowered himself onto the swing, tucking one leg underneath himself like a cat, and slowly, reached out his hand. He could see that Fergus’ face was wet, there was no hiding that, but he also knew him well enough to understand how someone noticing this made him feel. So Andy slid his fingers into the crook between Fergus’ thumb and index finger, in a gesture that very patently *didn’t* say ‘that’s alright, mate, I got you’ but very clearly *did* say ‘you have me.’

Fergus squeezed his fingers and Andy placed his head on Fergus’ shoulder, in that very cat-like, very tender manner, morphing into him as though his body was made out of fluid. Fergus pushed off the ground and the swing creaked, beginning to rock.

 

In a couple minutes, he said simply:

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

Andy didn’t respond.

“I told you things will never be how they were when I was working for Warren. But I am doing it again.”

Andy said nothing, but snaked his other arm under Fergus’ elbow, resting his fingers on his wrist.

“I won’t go in next weekend. I have no choice about tomorrow, but I’ll only go for a couple of hours in the afternoon whilst you’re at work. Then I’ll pick you up from the hub as soon as you get off and we’ll go take a walk on the beach up North.”

Andy was silent for a few seconds, then asked quietly:

“And the project?”

“It’ll still be there when I come back on Monday. And - I’m not the only one on the team.”

Andy lifted his head off Fergus’ shoulder and looked at him. Fergus found it hard to return the look.

“Andy…” – He winced. He hated when Andy was quiet like that and his own heart was breaking open and he felt alone and in pain and miles away from Andy even though Andy was sitting next to him.

But Andy must have felt it too, because suddenly his face softened and he gave Fergus a small smile:

“Yeah? I’m right here…”

And yeah – he really was, and he really was *his Andy*, that cold, uncharacteristic, metallic hue gone from his eyes, replaced with fresh, oceanic serenity, deeper than Mariana’s trench. 

So Fergus kissed him, drawing him to lean even more into himself and the old swing creaked as it rocked, but this time, neither of them found it funny.

 

At some point Fergus released Andy’s lips and allowed him to place his head back onto his shoulder. A few minutes later, he asked:

“Would it still be alright to go make some tea?”

“Now?” – Andy asked, instead making his head even more comfortable on Fergus’ shoulder.

Fergus got the hint:

“Not just now.”

He eyed the vast aqueous deity in the distance, tucked under the duvet of stars and dozing off to the sounds of the rocking swing, running dishwasher, and their own even breathing. He repeated:

“Not just now. In a few minutes. We have time.”

 

  
*******  
  
  
  



End file.
